


The Visiting Room

by Enygmass



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Second Chances, no romance lads just bruce being bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 06:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enygmass/pseuds/Enygmass
Summary: An early morning visit leads to an encounter that results with Jonathan receiving a very perplexing offer.





	The Visiting Room

“The Visiting Room” was to Jonathan as sleep was to an insomniac; a foreign concept that, although observed numerous times in passing, was never in reach of his outstretched hand. The other inmates had all been introduced to “The Visiting Room” at least once. Mr. Dent often left to consult with lawyers, Mr. Nygma to consult with the media, and Mr. Fries to consult with inquisitive scientists. From what Jonathan had gathered via word of mouth, “The Visiting Room” was a derelict space, approximately 10x15, with aqua coloured walls that were gradually chipping away to reveal the grey concrete underneath. The air conditioning never worked, so it was constantly boiling in the summer, but to balance it out the heat never worked either, so it was constantly cold in the winter. Mr. Tetch had mentioned in passing once that there was a metal table with two chairs bolted to the floor and that, in his words, sitting on the chair was equivalent to sitting on a horse barebacked; uncomfortable, and leaving you with an aching body once you were done. No, Jonathan had never had the privilege of going into “The Visiting Room”, which was why he was surprised when the guard came to his cell saying that there was someone here to meet him. 

Jonathan had experienced his “Eureka” moment a few months ago. It was a moment that many scientists or entrepreneurs hoped to accomplish in their lives. It was the moment when all the puzzle pieces clicked just right, and suddenly you were met with a beautiful image that made the laborious process to accomplish it very worthwhile. Yes, he had experienced his “Eureka” moment, in a sense that he realized in order to exit from Arkham and to be granted the opportunities he needed, he had to play by the rules. Arkham’s rules were the very ones that he had set up long ago, when he had been in control of the Asylum, with every inmate and doctor available at his beck-and-call. The rules were very simple: show improvement, be polite, keep your head down, and walk forwards. Walking backwards was sure to lead you right into the arms of the nearest security guard, or your next ten years in a cell. He supposed, given that he had been playing so well, it was due time that someone would finally want to meet him. 

The walk to “The Visiting Room” was nothing exciting. There was no flashing lights, no butterflies in his gut, absolutely nothing at all. Instead, he was shuffled down the hall by a guard who smelled like nicotine and stale coffee and looked as though he hadn’t seen sleep since the cold war, all the while having his arm gripped in a vice that was sure to leave bruises in the morning. Guards were always rough-and-tumble in this field; playing nice had been killed and buried when Joker had walked through the doors. 

“I ‘aven’t taken you here before, ‘ave I?” The guard spoke with a gruff tone in an accent that was indiscernible to Jonathan, coming off as more aggressive than Jonathan supposed he meant. 

“No.” A short, clipped response was all he offered. He wasn’t in too talkative of a mood at the presiding moment. Part of it was due to the fact it was still so early. Despite Arkham’s protocol to have all inmates up and in the showers by 6 am, Jonathan still found it hard to become aware of everything before the hour of 10. The other part of it was due to the fact he was too preoccupied trying to hypothesize who would come to see him so early. Chances were it was his lawyer, who had been ghosting him since he was put in here, but it could possibly be a curious student as well. It wasn’t uncommon for Gotham University grads and undergrads to come to Arkham to get interviews for thesis projects; Jonathan would be flattered if that was the case. Despite being an inmate, he was still more respected than the other staff in the university. 

“Well, suppose they say there’s a first time for everythin’.” The guard let out a hoarse chuckle as he fumbled with his key card, much to the bemusement of Jonathan, before finally scanning it through the slot and unlocking the door. Then, without so much as another word, he tugged Jonathan through. 

“The Visiting Room” was exactly how it had been described, right down to the fact that it was frigidly cold. The only details that had been missed were the fact that the room was illuminated by blinding fluorescent lights above, one of which flickered intermittently in the corner. Within the first few steps, Jonathan already knew that the next time he performed any toxin experiments, he’d be doing them here- the room looked like it was taken straight from the set of a Saw film. 

“Jus’ sit and be quiet, yeah? We’ll be back in a few.” The guard guided – no, shoved – Jonathan towards one of the bolted chairs, then without so much as a second glance he exited the room, leaving Jonathan to stand alone. Which was perplexing. Often, the guards would attach the cuffs to the metal chain that, too, was bolted to the table to ensure that the inmate wouldn’t try to kill the visitor or something. Perhaps the guards were so fed up with everything that they were beginning to neglect essential components of their job, a thought that Jonathan only fuelled as he sat down in the chair. 

Ah, Jervis had been right. Jonathan was not the meatiest inmate in Arkham, and the metal of the chair only served to emphasize the fact that this was the case. His boney stature combined with the hard surface brought immediate discomfort and made him only wish harder that this visitation was finished quickly. 

That, however, did not seem to be the case. Time passed slowly when you were aware you were waiting, and time passed even slower when there was no clock to tell you how long it had been. He found himself inspecting the wall, inspecting the table, staring into the camera in hopes of unnerving any observers, and eventually picking at his nails as he waited. Then, after what seemed like a lifetime had passed, the telltale buzz of a card being registered sounded from the door, and Jonathan looked up to greet his visitor for the first time.   
Or at least, he would have, had confusion not rendered him silent first. 

The man in the door was no student, nor was he the slimeball individual that Jonathan had the pleasure of calling his lawyer. This man was tall, impressively so, wearing a well-tailored suit and a red tie. His dark hair was cut in a neat style, and his dark blue eyes made Jonathan uncomfortable in the sense that nothing felt secret to them. The man could have been a lawyer, yes, or a politician, but the Wayne Enterprises pin on his suit told Jonathan exactly who it was. The two of them retained eye contact for a period, before the visitor offered a warm smile. 

“Dr. Crane! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” Had he not spoken, Jonathan would have been convinced that this was a hallucination brought on by some mix up in his medications. Despite this, his words and the decision to use the title “Dr. Crane” rather than the usual “Patient 406224” or “Scarecrow” did little to convince Jonathan otherwise. But, it was rude to say nothing back, so Jonathan cleared his throat and tried to speak in a firm tone, which was hopeless as he was acutely aware his voice was now a pitch higher. 

“Mr. Wayne, what an odd surprise.” Odd, yes, and he wasn’t sure it was welcomed either. “What brings you here?” 

Mr. Wayne, or Bruce – Jonathan wasn’t sure what title to use – said nothing as he settled himself into the chair across the way. The guard looked between the two for a moment before exiting the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Jonathan had no doubt that he and the others would be turning on the audio of the room in order to hear what this exchange would be. 

“I actually came here to speak with Jeremiah about the accounting for the institution. The year-end review is coming up, and he called me in for some suggestions.” Bruce adjusted his suit jacket as he spoke before finally settling in and resting his hands on his knees, taking a moment to look over Jonathan. Jonathan was becoming acutely aware that his dull russet hair and exhausted appearance looked rather sad compared to Wayne’s immaculate uptake. “Then, while we were talking, he mentioned your progress. I have to say, it’s good to see that something in Arkham is finally improving.” 

There was a pause between them, before Jonathan let out the snort that he had been holding in. “It’s about time, isn’t it? I don’t suppose that Dr. Arkham mentioned the deplorable inmate lounge while you two were talking? If anything needs improvement, it’s the paint job in there.” Bruce let out a laugh at that, which eased Jonathan if only a little bit. This was much preferable to being grilled by a lawyer. 

“He did mention that, in fact! Although I think it’s got a bit of charm to it. Something about the 60’s pop-deco polka dots combined with the striped wallpaper really sets a vibe, or it just makes everything worse. Who knows?”

There was something odd about a psychiatric patient and a billionaire playboy poking fun at Asylum design choices. Jonathan felt like it was the beginning of some poor joke – A lunatic and a playboy sit in a room – and the thought sobered him up a bit. Bruce must’ve noticed the change in mood, as his smile faded just a bit. Bruce Wayne didn’t come to visit just anyone – especially Jonathan. 

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here, Wayne. Should you not be getting ready for your next charity event, rather than wasting time in a room with a criminal? It might look bad for your publicity if anyone catches wind of this.” Jonathan paused for a beat before continuing. “Unless this is to improve publicity. I guess it would look excellent on your record to be visiting the poor, and the suffering, children of Arkham.” He had never referred to himself as a child of Arkham, but it felt fitting to jump on the term that the media liked to throw around so often. At this, Bruce seemed to sober up as well, shifting in his seat before resting his hands on the table instead. 

“Well, for starters, the event isn’t until next week, so I think I have a bit of time to kill. Secondly, this doesn’t concern publicity. Are you aware that you’re on the fast track to receiving a bill of release soon?” Bruce fixated Jonathan with a stern stare, and he felt himself growing uncomfortable under those blue eyes again. Something about the look, about the colour, drew forth memories of encounters with a certain bat that Jonathan thought best to keep under wraps. He looked away. “There is no support system for released patients in Gotham City. Essentially, when they get out, it’s entirely up to their own devices to ensure housing, transportation, and a means of income, as well as keeping in touch with doctors to ensure treatment retention.”

“I’m aware, Mr. Wayne. I was the director of this Asylum as well. I saw more than my fair share of patients leave and then come back more destitute than before.” Jonathan had been one of the few to appeal to the council in Gotham to set up a plan for released patients. All his appeals, of course, had fallen to deaf ears and he had been left to pick up the pieces of released patients lives when the eventually returned home, no support provided. 

“I don’t want to see that. You, amongst others, have skills and potentials that could greatly improve this city. It isn’t fair to see them go to waste because of a past record. I personally believe that every person deserves a second chance – something that the mayoral office seems to ignore.” Now Jonathan was looking back at him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. This was leading up to something, he knew it. He had experienced numerous encounters with men who were using the same tone Wayne was using now, and he knew they always, always, wanted something. 

“What’s your card here, Wayne?”

“I’m glad you asked!” There was a warmer tone in Bruce’s voice now and his expression seemed to soften at Jonathan’s inquiry. He hated it – Bruce looked so pathetically likeable with that look and Jonathan wanted nothing to do with it. “Dr. Crane, you won’t be accepted back into any hospitals or universities, you and I both know this.”

Well, obviously. 

“But I’d like to give you an opportunity to use your skills to your full advantage. Wayne Industries is currently working on a government-funded project to produce an effective treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder in adolescents and adults. Given your knowledge both in psychology and the effects of trauma on the human mind, as well as your experimental background, I’d like to know if you would be willing to work with us on this project once you’re released. You’d be given an apartment under Wayne Enterprises listing, as well as means of transportation and income. We want to do this more for reformed patients in Arkham, and we’d like to start with you.”

There was a beat of silence. It drew out for a long period of time, held steady by the expression on Jonathan’s face as he looked at the man across from him. He was searching, digging, trying to find the lie in Bruce’s eyes because good opportunities like this, opportunities for a second chance, did not come to men like Jonathan Crane. He was waiting for the ‘just kidding!’ that was sure to follow next, but after another few moments, he realized with horror that the man was being dead serious.

“Are you kidding? Mr. Wayne, are you aware the backlash you will receive upon employing me to work for your company? I mean, have you, have you looked up from your blissfully naïve world to see what I have done? I will take two steps into Wayne Enterprises and be tackled to the ground by every security guard you have under your employment within a moments notice, not to mention I highly doubt the government would like to work with me. Have you thought this through at all?” Jonathan’s voice was raising pitch again, but Bruce seemed unfazed by it all. 

“Oh, I have, Dr. Crane, and I’m not expecting you to accept anything right this moment. Rest assured, I am more than familiar with what you have done. In fact, you could almost say it has impacted me directly. But I recognize the potential this could have with you working on it, given that you’re more qualified than anyone else that’s applied, and I have no doubt that others will see that as well. If I’m willing to give you a chance, so will they.” Bruce tapped the table twice with his hands, then waved to the camera in the corner. “I’m just asking you to think on it, that’s all. If you agree, you can leave the public to me.” 

With these words, a familiar buzz sounded out and “The Visiting Room” door slid open, revealing the guard that had brought Jonathan here before. At this, Bruce stood up and extended his hand to Jonathan. Jonathan stared at it for a moment, as though it were a cobra poised to bite, before cautiously taking it into his own. Bruce’s hand was surprisingly warm, despite the frigid room, and his grip was firm. 

“Think on it hard, Dr. Crane. It’d be an honour to work with you.” Then, after two shakes, Bruce relinquished his grip and exited the room, leaving Jonathan with more confusion and uncertainty than what he had walked in with. The guard gave him a look and gestured to stand, an action that Jonathan did automatically with no thought at all. It was only when the guard took on his vice grip of Jonathan’s arm once more was he shaken back into reality. 

He supposed that this first trip to “The Visiting Room” was a worthwhile one, and as they stepped back into the hall and the door closed in their wake, Jonathan had an uncomfortable feeling that he’d be returning again very soon. Playing by the rules had not exactly gone as planned.


End file.
